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Rivers of Ice. Robert Michael Ballantyne
Читать онлайн.Название Rivers of Ice
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Автор произведения Robert Michael Ballantyne
Жанр Зарубежная классика
Издательство Public Domain
“Had he left any children?”
“Yes,” Mrs Roby told him; “one son, who had been educated as a doctor, and had become a sort of a city missionary, and was as pleasant a young gentleman as she ever knew.”
“So, then, you know him?” said the Captain.
“Know him! I should think so. Why, this is the district where he visits, and a kind friend he is to the poor, though he is bashful a bit, an’ seems to shrink from pushin’ himself where he’s not wanted.”
“Not the less a friend to the poor on that account,” thought Captain Wopper; but he said nothing, and Mrs Roby went on:—
“You see, his father before him did a great deal for the poor in a quiet way here, as I have reason to know, this district lying near his office, and handy, as it were. Long after the time when he saved Willum’s life, he married a sweet young creeter, who helped him in visitin’ the poor, but she caught fever among ’em and died, when their only son George was about ten year old. George had been goin’ about with his mother on her visits, and seemed very fond of her and of the people, dear child; and after she died, he used to continue coming with his father. Then he went to school and college and became a young doctor, and only last year he came back to us, so changed for the better that none of us would have known him but for his kindly voice and fine manly-looking manner. His shyness, too, has stuck to him a little, but it does not seem to hinder him now as it once did. Ah!” continued Mrs Roby, in a sympathetic tone, “it’s a great misfortune to be shy.”
She looked pensively at the little fire and shook her tall cap at it, as if it or the defiant tea-kettle were answerable for something in reference to shyness.
“Yes, it’s a great misfortune to be shy,” she repeated. “Were you ever troubled with that complaint, Captain Wopper?”
The Captain’s moustache curled at the corners as he stroked his beard, and said that really, on consideration, he was free to confess that he never had been convicted of that sin.
Mrs Roby bestowed on him a look of admiration, and continued, “Well, as I have said—”
She was interrupted at this point by the entrance of an active little girl, with the dirtiest face and sweetest expression imaginable, with garments excessively ragged, blue eyes that sparkled as they looked at you, a mouth that seemed made for kissing, if only it had been clean, and golden hair that would have fallen in clustering curls on her neck, if it had not been allowed to twist itself into something like a yellow door-mat which rendered a bonnet unnecessary.
Bestowing a glance of surprise on the seaman, but without uttering a word, she went smartly to a corner and drew into the middle of the room a round table with one leg and three feet, whose accommodating top having been previously flat against the wall, fell down horizontal and fixed itself with a snap. On this the earnest little woman, quickly and neatly, spread a fairish linen cloth, and proceeded to arrange thereon a small tea-pot and cup and saucer, with other materials, for an early tea.
“Two cups, Netta, my dear,” said Mrs Roby.
“Yes, grannie,” replied Netta, in a soft quick, little voice.
“Your grandchild?” asked the Captain.
“No; a neighbour’s child, who is very kind to me. She calls me grannie, because I like it. But, as I was saying,” continued Mrs Roby, “young Dr Lawrence came back last year and began to visit us in the old way, intending to continue, he said, until he got a situation of some sort in the colonies, I believe; but I do hope he’ll not be obliged to leave us, for he has bin a great blessin’ to this neighbourhood, only he gets little pay for his work, I fear, and appears to have little of his own to live on, poor young man.—Now, Captain Wopper, you’ll stop and have a cup of tea with me. I take it early, you see,—in truth, I make a sort of dinner of it,—and we can have a talk about William over it. I’m proud to have a friend of his at my table, sir, I do assure you, though it is a poor one.”
Captain Wopper accepted the invitation heartily, and thought, though he said nothing, that it was indeed a poor table, seeing that the only food on it besides the very weak tea in the wonderfully small pot, consisted of one small loaf of bread.
“Netta,” exclaimed Mrs Roby, with a look of surprise, “there’s no butter! Go, fetch it, dear.”
Mrs Roby was, or thought herself, a remarkably deep character. She spoke to Netta openly, but, in secret, bestowed a meaning glance on her, and slipped a small coin into her hand. The dirty, sweet-faced damsel replied by a remarkably knowing wink—all of which by-play, with the reason for it, was as clear to Captain Wopper as if it had been elaborately explained to him. But the Captain was a discreet man. He became deeply absorbed in daguerreotypes and sauce-pan lids above the fireplace, to the exclusion of all else.
“You’ve forgotten the bag, ma’am,” said the Captain, drawing his chair nearer the table.
“So I have; dear me, what is it?” cried Mrs Roby, taking it up. “It’s heavy.”
“Gold!” said the Captain.
“Gold?” exclaimed the old nurse.
“Ay, nuggets,” said the seaman, opening it and emptying its contents on the table.
As the old nurse gazed on the yellow heap her black eyes glittered with pleasure, as though they had derived additional lustre from the precious metal, and she drew them towards her with a trembling, almost greedy, motion, at sight of which Captain Wopper’s countenance became troubled.
“And did Willie send this to me, dear boy?”
“He did, ma’am, hoping that it would be of use in the way of making your home more comfortable, and enabling you to keep a better table.”
He glanced uneasily round the poor room and at the small loaf as he spoke, and the old woman observed the glance.
“It is very kind of him, very kind,” continued Mrs Roby. “What may it be worth, now?”
“Forty pounds, more or less,” answered the Captain.
Again the old woman’s eyes sparkled greedily, and again the seaman’s countenance fell.
“Surely, ma’am,” said the Captain, gravely, “things must be uncommon dear in London, for you tell me that Willum has sent you a deal of money in time past, but you don’t seem to be much the better for it.”
“Captain Wopper,” said Mrs Roby, putting her hand lightly on the Captain’s arm as it lay on the table, and looking earnestly into his face, “if you had not been an old and valued friend of my dear Willie—which I learn that you are from his letter—I would have said your remark was a rude one; but, being what you are, I don’t mind telling you that I save up every penny I can scrape together for little Netta White, the girl that has just gone out to fetch the butter. Although she’s not well cared for,—owing to her mother, who’s a washerwoman, bein’ overburdened with work and a drunken husband,—she’s one of the dearest creeters I ever did see. Bless you, sir, you’d be amazed if you knew all the kind and thoughtful things that untrained and uncared for child does, and never thinks she’s doing anything more than other people. It’s all along of her mother’s spirit, which is as good as gold. Some months ago Little Netta happened to be up here when I was at tea, and, seeing the difficulty I had to move about with my old rheumatic limbs, she said she’d come and set out my tea and breakfast for me; and she’s done it, sir, from that time to this, expecting nothing fur it, and thinking I’m too poor to give her anything. But she’s mistaken,” continued Mrs Roby, with a triumphant twinkle in her black eyes, “she doesn’t know that I’ve made a confidant of her brother Gillie, and give him a sixpence now and then to give to his mother without telling where he got it, and she doesn’t know that I’m saving up to be able to leave something to her when I’m called home—it can’t be long, now; it can’t be long.”
“Old